This Pearl

The warm hand is removed

and what is left behind is both cold and warm

at the same time

a breeze lifts the gauzy curtains

and brushes over the sweat damp skin

like a caress.

A kiss on the lips

leaves a tingle

a tongue flicks to taste the sweetness left behind

eyes slowly open

and what was once there is gone

or perhaps it was just a ghost

or the whispering fingers of the wind

And does the ear not hear a voice

or is it just the beating of this lonely heart

are all these words and poems

just illusions

left to make a life seemed lived

while it coils in its shell

comatose

and wanting

Everything that has come before this

is a lie.

And all that I am is the truth.

Waiting for the time

when the shadows pass across the room

dawn to dusk

and the moon rises

dusk to dawn.

Nascent grit

trying to grow a pearl.

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